False Immortal
by The Original Oxymoron
Summary: One-shot. First Person narrative. In a distant future Waka is living among mortals. From his office, he foresees a strange prophecy- an ode to white, red and the peach. False Immortal, what is the oblivion you seek?


**False Immortal**

_An okami, xenosaga one-shot. _

I gaze out the window of my office and see a sea of stars. The same stars, that once enclosed the gods themselves.

I am but a humble business man now. Once, I was a prophet revered and adored through out Nippon, known as a leader of Tao and a celestial among men. Today, I am not the great prophet Waka, but I am now only known as Mr. Ushiwaka, an employee of Vector, of Wilhelm, like so many of the mortals I walk among.

This is not to say I do not have prophecies. Times have changed, however and I along with them. I see the Zohar and a woman named Mary, in contrast to the Serpent Crystal and the great mother Amaterasu. She is home now, with the other gods and celestials, awaiting a day when the sun may shine again.

I sit now in my synthetic chair, wiping Pillow Talk with a synthetic cloth, so that she may hang upon my office wall as a solemn reminder of an age long gone. An age where she aided me in combat everyday, weather it be against imps, demons, Yami, or Ma Cherie herself. One day she will see it again- I know this only because I already have.

As I gently stroke her blade two and fro, another vision enters my mind. It is a dark room, European gothic chandeliers hang from it's ceiling. In the room, there stand young girls- quite a few of them- they all share the same face, hair, and clothing. A tall broad man enters, his white untrimmed locks give a faint shimmer in the dim candle light. The girls, each one of them though they do not show it, feel an emotional stew of love, hate, dread and fear as the glorious figure chooses one of them and holds her lovingly in his lap. He gently strokes her hair. He kisses her forehead like one would to a lover. He smiles at her, not lovingly but bitterly, cruelly. The man grabs her neck and tosses her aside. Quite a terrible thing to behold, but how might this effect the ripples of the universe?

The vision, continues, despite my judgment. The man utters a villainous giggle and storms into another room, leaving his victim to cry in pain. In this room he broods. He rages and punches the surrounding walls, and scratches the red silk curtains. Red? Is his manic fit of rage over something so trivial as a color? Or was it, perhaps, that the symbol behind the color threw him into his current state. What might that symbol of hurt be?

He breaths heavily and laughs to himself. I notice a visual-auditory oxymoron- a bitter sweet contradiction between the insane hilarity and his tragic tears. The lunacy ceases as I hear faint and mixed phrases containing the words "Rubedo", "Peche", "talermaroose", and "perfection". He laughs once more before grabbing a blade from his suit and completely decapitating himself. I thought the vision would end here. Alas, even a seasoned prophet, like myself has misses. To my surprise, his head sets once again upon his graceful body. Crying out once again, he slices even more of himself, caring not about the puddles forming on the floor.

False immortal, where is your soul? Has heaven and earth rejected you so, outcast of god and man? Why must you hate the blossoms of spring, and the fresh peaches of the trees? Is it because red has forsaken you? Because god or demon has infected you? Or is it simply the loneliness, the childhood terror that still lingers in your mind? You must so badly miss he long ago rendezvous with red that it has caused you to seek an unattainable death. To dance with red, you plot a tango with the peach. That is it! That is your very endeavor, the wave you will create that will effect us all!

My sight blurs, I arise from my desk. The vision has ended. I wipe the sweat from my head and untie my strands of gold from their binds, allowing them to flow past my shoulders. I mount Pillow Talk on the wall, grab my keys and turn out the light. My day has ended.

But alas, be assured- false immortal, you shall find the oblivion which you seek.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Ok I wrote this randomly last night in my notebook because I couldn't sleep. Basically the idea is, that Waka who is immortal is still living in Xenosaga times. He is working for vector so that when everything unfolds he will be close to the action. One night he sees a vision (pre episode I) of Albedo, doing his regular crazy routine. I thought about this, because Waka and Albedo are two of my favorite characters ever. They also have a loot in common- they are both very poetic, mix French, use mind tricks, and are a little on the flamboyant side (Waka more than Albedo, but you must admit Albedo is pretty… showy XD). However, they also have many differences- Albedo is insane and evil/misguided and Waka is relatively sane and ends up being a good guy, even though he annoys Issun and Amaterasu.

So basically this is a tribute to both of them! It is how Waka sees Albedo via a vision. It's pretty weird I'll admit, and the fact I'm not used to first person doesn't help the matter. Ohh well. Anyway hope you enjoyed! Please review, criticism and comments are adored! Anyway backk to Virgin Planet! Hahah maybe one day I'll write a regular story, not a crossover. XD

Rock on! Ma critique's!

--TOO


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